


Sometimes I Want to Tie You to a Chair and Jettison You Into Space (A Love Story)

by roaroftheninth



Series: the boybander and the idiot (except for the part where they're both idiots) [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Crack, Crack Pairings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-28
Updated: 2013-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-13 06:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/821120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roaroftheninth/pseuds/roaroftheninth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Nah, we’re star-crossed, it’s romantic. We’re like Romeo and Juliet except for the part where we’re both lads and I haven’t murdered any of your cousins.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes I Want to Tie You to a Chair and Jettison You Into Space (A Love Story)

**Author's Note:**

> I just - what even _is_ this?

“Not that I object on principle, but why have you been trying to charm your way into night clubs with no shirt?”

 

Niall has the phone tucked between shoulder and ear as he pours himself a rather sizable bowl of sugary cereal. He’s already had toast and half the fruit bowl since lunch, but it’s still two hours until dinner and Niall is a growing boy.

 

There’s a sigh on the other end. “Why aren’t _you_ here _with_ me trying to charm your way into a night club with no shirt?”

 

Niall grins. “Because I’m a lovely boy with fantastic manners,” he says, which is precisely what Justin’s mother said to him the last time they met. “And because I’m on tour in America while you’re running amok in Europe. And also the bit where you don’t want to be the _gay_ international pop superstar and I signed a contract with an amusingly tight-fisted image clause.”

 

“Invalid reasons,” Justin decides. “Next.”

 

Niall laughs at him, opening the fridge to look for milk. “Nah, we’re star-crossed, it’s romantic. We’re like Romeo and Juliet except for the part where we’re both lads and I haven’t murdered any of your cousins.”

 

“I think you just made me Juliet,” Justin muses.

 

Niall locates the milk behind the five other things in the fridge, all of which are crowded on the eye-level shelf. “When our fifteen minutes are nearly up, we’ll get married as a publicity stunt. It’ll be fun.”

 

Justin hums. “The more important question is, _where_ are we going to get married? Location, man. It’s _everything._ ”

 

Niall shrugs, even though Justin can’t see him. There are about four drops of milk left in the carton and it’s been expired for five days. This is what happens when Niall isn’t living with Liam or Harry, who periodically shop, or Justin, who periodically sends people out to shop.

 

“I don’t want to get married in Stratford, there are, like, six people who live in Stratford,” Justin complains, like Niall has suggested some kind of hokey home-town wedding. “It’s boring.”

 

“Let’s get married on the moon, then,” Niall says, wondering if O’Darby’s will serve the same purpose as milk. “Bring all our friends.”

 

“At the bottom of the ocean,” Justin suggests. “In, like, bad-ass diving suits. With sharks in the background.”

 

“If it's an audience you want, we'll drag the band, a priest, and our entire extended families onto the tube in London at midday,” Niall says, testing out his O’Darby’s hypothesis and drizzling it liberally all over his cereal. "Although having you and Harry in the same confined space is likely to cause medical emergencies for nearby fifteen-year-olds."

 

Justin huffs a laugh. “Or we could just go to Vegas." 

 

Niall wonders if Justin maybe sounds very slightly serious on that one. Niall's not sure whether that idea is insane or hilarious, since Justin would definitely need a babysitter in Vegas and Niall's not sure whether there's enough money in the world to hire one who would put up with them both for a weekend.

 

“We can’t actually,” Niall answers. “Two blokes can’t get married in Vegas.”

 

“Right, sorry, unlike how two guys can _easily_ get married on the moon." Justin yawns. "Anyway, I’m Justin Bieber.”

 

Niall laughs. “Are you going to tell them that and they’ll just let you have your way?”

 

“Don’t act like it doesn’t work,” Justin replies.

 

Niall samples his cereal and makes a face. O’Darby’s is _not_ milk.

 

“Well, if you keep on acting like a tosser in public, that might stop working so well,” he says good-naturedly.

 

“I don’t know what a tosser is,” Justin answers. “Wait, I just Googled it. Hey. _Hey._ ”

 

“Explain to me how you _haven’t_ been a tosser, then,” Niall says, dumping his soggy cereal down the disposal.

 

“Okay, I – ” Justin makes a frustrated sound. “Okay, maybe. But there’s never anyone _here_ to tell me that I’m being one. Everyone just kind of follows me around and tells me how great all of my decisions are. It starts to mess with your judgment.”

 

Niall’s always been grateful that he’s just one piece of a five-unit boy band. If Niall started putting on airs, all four of them would immediately laugh themselves sick and take him down a peg or five.

 

“Besides,” Justin continues, “You’re there, and I want you to come over, and you won’t.”

 

“Well, there’s the water feature in the way,” Niall points out reasonably, rinsing his cereal bowl and setting it in the drain rack. “And besides, if I always said yes to everything, I’d be one of those people following you around and telling you how great all of your decisions are.”

 

“You’re super annoying,” Justin decides, after a beat wherein he works out that Niall is right. “Sometimes I want to tie you to a chair and jettison you into space.”

 

“I’m not annoying, I’m honest,” Niall protests, grinning.

 

“Honesty _is_ annoying,” Justin tells him. “If I were honest with you, I’d say all kinds of mean things.”

 

“You would not,” Niall says amiably.

 

“Oh, I would,” Justin insists. “Gimme a sec.”

 

Niall leans against the counter, trying not to laugh. “Are you Googling Irish jokes?”

 

“Did that already,” Justin says. “Now I’m on to Niall Horan trivia. You’ve dislocated your knee _ten times_ now? How much time are you _spending_ down there? I mean, rhetorically, because I know exactly how much time you’re spending down there.”

 

“Those are _sports injuries_ ,” Niall objects, laughing.

 

“I’m getting you a t-shirt that says ‘Blowjob Leprechaun’ – ”

 

“You have the emotional maturity of a twelve-year-old girl,” Niall informs him. “And yet, wonder of wonders, I still sort of like you.”

 

“Well, as long as you _sort of_ like me. I mean, I’m glad I rented out an entire arena for someone who _sort of_ likes me; when you upgrade to _pretty sure_ you like me, I’ll get down on one knee.”

 

Niall grins. “I’ll let you know when it happens.”

 

“Holding my breath over here,” Justin tells him, good-humoured.

 

“I’ve got plans with the lads in a bit,” Niall says, glancing at the clock on the microwave. “It’s nearly ten there. Surely there’s a bouncer you should be yelling at naked.”

 

“Yeah, I mean. I’ve got an appointment to punch a photographer in half an hour, and then later I’m going to write inappropriate things in a guestbook.”

 

“I’m fairly certain you have to up the ante at this point,” Niall tells him. “Isn’t there a nursery school you can set on fire?”

 

“Actually, I’m staying in tonight,” Justin offers, blithely ignoring Niall's feigned gasp of surprise. “I’m livestreaming the hockey game. All of the teams I actually like are out of the playoffs, but I kind of want to watch Boston get their asses handed to them by Pittsburgh.”

 

“Watch a real sport,” Niall admonishes.

 

“Says the guy who flipped a table when the Leafs gave up a three-goal lead and got knocked out of the playoffs in overtime,” Justin says.

 

“Shut up, I was testing the structural integrity of the table.”

 

“Well, test failed, because it broke,” Justin says, being a shit, and Niall would mock glare at him and tackle him into the couch if they were in the same room.

 

“Here’s the deal,” Niall begins: “You don’t tell anyone I’m a closet hockey fan, and I won’t tell anyone you’re secretly not as much of a tosser as everyone says.”

 

Justin sounds amused when he says, “Oh, good, yeah, keep that to yourself. I have a reputation as an asshole to uphold.”

 

“I’m here to help,” Niall says graciously.

 

“Go hang out with your band, already,” Justin tells him. “Some of us have to go deal with our Sidney Crosby man-crush for two hours.”

 

“Delinquent,” Niall says.

 

“ _Boybander_ ,” Justin returns.


End file.
